Eyes of Eternity
by Tweetie Pie
Summary: A cross-over of my own work, the Silver Forest, and Lord of the Rings. WIP
1. Prologue to Chapter 1

OK, here is the Prologue to Chapter 1, Chapter 1 and the Prologue to Chapter  
2, for the Eyes of Eternity story. Please feel free to let me know what you  
think, as I'm still writing more. My husband has beta'd this, so if you  
have read the original prologue you may find that this reads better.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Legolas, or Mirkwood. But I DO own everything that  
is of the Silver Forest and the Silver Forest itself. Please do not reprint  
this without my permission.  
  
Link: http://www.silverforest.com/ - for more information on my other work.  
  
Dedication: To my husband. My muse, my soul and my heart.  
  
NOTES Anything written in the first person perspective is from Legolas'  
point of view. Imagine him crowded around the campfire with the fellowship,  
some time before Moria. Anything written in the third person,  
conventionally, is "Eternity" speaking. She has a name, which will become  
apparent before the end of the story.  
  
---  
  
The firelight gleamed in the azure depths of Legolas' eyes as he thought  
back to his earlier adventures. Which tale would he tell this evening?  
Perhaps one to entertain the Fellowship for the next few nights? What of  
the tale of Telpë Taurë and the great war there? Yes, it was a good place  
to start.  
  
------ Legolas' PoV  
  
Eyes of violet regarded me through the mists of dream. Eyes both wise and  
young at once. I knew that I was looking at the agelessness of the elves,  
my friends. I knew instinctively that I was gazing into the face of  
eternity... And that the eternity would welcome me.  
  
It is so very rare for us to dream that when I awoke I was surprised to  
find myself alone. All of my companions had left and I was still at the  
camp in Mirkwood. It was strange, because I knew we had agreed that they  
would accompany me home since the Orcs had been very active in the last few  
weeks. But I was less than a days' ride from home now and had no fear as I  
put out their fire and took the remnants of my belongings with me.  
  
Something in the shade of the trees whispered of danger less than an hour  
after I had set out. Something in the bushes murmered of orcs. I set aside  
my pack, released my horse and sprang to the safety of the nearest tree,  
looking for signs of the disquiet I felt. However, their numbers were too  
many and I was forced to withdraw.  
  
Skimming through the treetops, it seemed almost too easy to avoid the Orcs.  
I watched them from each tree as they milled around below me, unaware of my  
presence. It was not long ere I had made it to a place of relative safety,  
but something still did not feel right. Alas, it was a trap, for I saw  
another group of the detested creatures less than half a mile from the  
first. Butchered and in their midst were my companions, dead or dying. The  
thoughts of their plans for the fate of my comrades brought anger to me and  
I resolved to escape and muster the elves of Mirkwood to bring these orcs  
to task.  
  
Again, it seemed that Fate had other plans in store for me, as one of their  
number looked up, through the boughs, straight into my eyes. Although he  
died of my arrow, his final breath was raised in warning. Their prey had  
found them and now their ugly little game of cat and mouse could begin.  
  
Again I fled through the tops of the trees, my footfalls silent as the  
whisper of the breeze, but an Orc arrow snatched away my next branch,  
whipping it out from under my boot. Falling, I managed to land on my feet,  
but more arrows were claiming the spaces I occupied. I was forced to move,  
continually trying to evade their heavy, murderous arrows thudding into the  
trees around me. However, one grazed past my face, it's sharpened feathers  
slicing through the skin of my cheek. Trying to avoid it and the numerous  
other arrows, I slipped. Loosing my balance, I fell. You must remember, I  
was still very young at the time. Again, Fate had ideas for me. My head  
found a rock nestled in the underbrush. Darkness stole all memory except  
for astonished gasps from the orcs.  
  
Why they were surprised, I soon found out.  
  
I felt my bow trapped underneath my shoulders, my arrows trapped in my hair  
or behind my back, as I awoke. I slowly opened my eyes, the harsh light of  
the sun assailing me when I did not expect it. Expecting to find trees  
above me, all I could see was the open expanse of the sky. The sun glinted  
off a metallic object at the edge of my field of vision. I turned my head  
slightly and pain brought me back to full consciousness, only to be staring  
down the shaft of a white-fletched arrow. The wielder of the bow muttered  
something that sounded vaguely like Quenya, but I did not recognise even  
the first word. I struggled to focus on her, the stern voice of my captor  
demanding an answer. The problem was I did not know the question.  
  
Another presence to my right begged my attention. I sat up slowly, my  
hands supporting me as I realised that my head hurt terribly. I felt the  
warmth of a stream of blood trickling down the side of my face, but pushed  
the thought to the back of my mind. I could not afford to be distracted by  
anything and so I turned.  
  
...And looked straight into the eyes of eternity framed by moonlight.  
  
Silver hair framed a face of such delicacy that she could only be pure  
blooded Elven. Her features spoke of the harshness of the winter's fury,  
the elves of the mountains. Her fingers caressed a bow, the likes of which  
I had never seen before. It looked like carved ivory, wrapped with leather  
in the style of the elves of Mirkwood. Upon her back, fletched with white,  
rode arrows made of the same ivory-like wood. Resting at her side,  
sheathed in a battered leather scabbard, lay a beautifully crafted blade,  
the hilt and pommel gleaming gold in the fading light of their day. She  
wore armour, bleached to white, but I was stunned to see the word  
Envinyatar, 'Renewer', etched in grey-blue on her right shoulder.  
  
But her eyes! They were the stuff that dreams were forged from! They were  
violet as amethyst. She gazed at me with both wisdom and kindness. A  
soft, swift word to the younger woman who had threatened me and I was no  
longer a captive of war... just a captive of eternal beauty. It was that  
beauty that stole away my consciousness. I did not wake for three days, or  
so I was informed.  
  
----- The Present  
  
"And the rest shall I speak of tomorrow, for you are all tired after the  
days' marching." Legolas smiled at the hobbits and his four other  
companions, before demurely standing and moving away for the night to let  
them sleep. He tilted his face to the sky, vividly remembering those  
eyes... almost able to see them in the depths of the inky night. But  
another pair of eyes overshadowed them, eyes of such brilliant blue that  
made his look grey in comparison. He sighed, remembering fondly all that  
had transpired. And he rested. 


	2. Chapter 1

----- "Eternity's" POV.  
  
She watched as the young one crumpled to the ground. By her estimate, he  
had been bleeding on this battle ground for many hours and was much  
weakened. He was younger than she had thought, little more than a century  
old. Yet a boy, by the standards of this place. Handing her bow to the  
younger woman at her side, the healer knelt beside the boy, passing a hand  
over his body, turning her senses inwards and looking for injury. Apart  
from the obvious cut on his beautiful, young face, she could feel the  
bleeding from his head and numerous other scrapes, probably the result of a  
fall. She used her skills, honed over the centuries, to stop the immediate  
bleeding with meticulous care. Finally, she sat back on her heels to rest.  
  
"We need a stretcher." Her voice was soft and somewhat tired. Passing a  
hand over her weary face, she watched as her daughter gestured for two  
warriors to bring the needed stretcher. Looking up, the woman spoke softly  
to her new aides, speaking with an authority that demanded immediate  
action. "It's too far to take him to the hospital. Take the boy to my  
manor. He needs quiet, rest and healing and I can best provide it there."  
  
The one standing furthest from the healer bowed slightly, but the other  
just nodded before speaking. "Milady Blackstone, Captain BenShanniir has  
said that you should rest. He is fresh and tending to the wounded at the  
other end of the battleground, as are his children. You should return with  
us."  
  
Sighing, Lady Blackstone cast a glance around the battlefield. A sudden  
wave of sadness broke her introspection and concentration, a sure sign of  
fatigue. She nodded. "Aye, I see him. Very well, I'll return with ye." She  
watched as they carefully loaded the unknown archer on the stretcher. She  
knelt and reverently retrieved the bow and quiver he had carried. The  
quiver was damaged, the leather straps were torn and dangling from the  
bottom. That she could repair without magic. She smiled softly as her slim  
fingers touched the bow, appreciating it's beauty and it's strength in the  
way that only a fellow archer could. Standing, she carried with her all  
that he could not, following the stretcher bearers to her manor.  
  
---  
  
Sitting beside the small fireplace in the bedroom of her guest, she sewed  
new leather on the quiver that the young archer had been carrying. She  
hummed a soft lullaby while she kept the young man company, waiting for him  
to awaken. His face had been cleaned and the cheek wound healed so that  
not even a light scar marred the smooth skin. His hair, long and soft as  
silk, was brushed and fanned out behind his head. It looked like he slept,  
the smooth skin burnished to a light golden hue by the light of the fire  
flickering at her side. She had called him across time to help in the war  
effort, but had no idea that it was going to be such a youngster on whom  
the fate of the Silver Forest would lay.  
  
She had sat with him through the fever of bloodloss, had calmed the raging  
fires that burned his veins. She had listened as he had spoken feverish  
murmers in the ancient tongue. She quieted his fears with her gentle  
touch. During these long days she discovered that his name was Legolas and  
that he had been fleeing Orcs. All else would have to be explained by him  
when he awakened, because his accent was strange. It was odd that she  
should find this one youngling who spoke the ancient tongue, when she had  
sought after a skilled and legendary warrior to help defend the Forest  
against the Christians who had invaided their home.  
  
As she worked, the sound of the thick thread being drawn through the  
toughened leather and the hiss and crackle of the fire burning in the grate  
accompanied her humming in a trio of haunting sounds. So quiet was the  
manor that she flinched when she heard the sharp clang of the door bell.  
Sighing, she set aside the sewing and stood, leaving the nearly repaired  
quiver on the chair.  
  
Pulling open the door, the burst of sunlight briefly obscured her visitors.  
"Aunt Sharra?" Lady Blackstone smiled as she recognised the voice of their  
new Shanniir, Therria. Stepping aside, she watched as the young leader  
slipped inside the manor, flanked by her ever-present bodyguards. Sharra  
was quickly engulfed in the young queen's embrace, which took her by  
surprise.  
  
"Therria?" Sharra queried softly, noticing the tears in the young elf's  
eyes. She could sense the impending tingle of grief, the touch from the  
younger woman breaking through Sharra's mental barriers. Someone had  
passed... someone near and dear to her. Gently touching Therria's cheek,  
her eyes asked the only question that was left unanswered.  
  
"Aunt Sharra, it's Myrrah... Even Keilan couldn't save her. She... She  
passed beyond the veil an hour ago." Sharra gasped softly, feeling her  
immediate grief augmented by Therria's own through their touch. Tears  
trembled in her violet eyes and she looked down at the blue depths of her  
neice. It felt like a knife was twisted in her stomach and the pain was so  
very real that she stepped away, trying to control her own grief to the  
point where she could speak.  
  
"What happened?" Her voice sounded thin, hoarse in her own ears. Sharra  
could hardly believe that this had happened. Her oldest niece lay dead,  
killed in the latest attacks by the Christians. But as she listened to  
Therria explain what had happened, it seemed that the world itself seemed  
to pull further away from her, becoming more distant.  
  
"Myrrah was brought to the hospital when Keilan found her. Our brother did  
all that he could to try and save her, but an arrow had pierced her  
stomach. The wound was so deep that he couldn't stop the bleeding." Therria  
Carra, Shanniir of the Silver Forest, spoke around gasping sobs, unable to  
believe that her half sister was truly dead.  
  
A small noise drew the attention of the bodyguards and both elven  
women. They turned to see the lithe form of Legolas standing in the  
archway. In his hands a dagger glinted, light from the lamps casting a  
glamour of stars across the faces of the women in his presence. He spoke,  
the soft Quenyan hanging in the air. As he looked at each of the faces,  
however, he realised that no one understood Quenyan in this household. The  
blade of the dagger wavered as he pondered what to do, but Therria moved  
with the speed of a gazelle, knocking the blade from his hand while pinning  
him to the floor with her body. Her deep blue eyes locked with his and time  
seemed to freeze for them both. 


	3. Prologue to Chapter 2

----- The Present  
  
Legolas watched as his companions settled down, waiting for him to continue  
the story that he had started last night. The elf perched elegantly on a  
low tree-stump while the others organised their bedrolls. Smiling, he saw  
that they were now ready for him to continue, but he could not resist  
taking a moment to glance to the sky and remember those blue eyes, deeper  
than the purest sapphire, more intense than the hottest sun.  
  
----- Legolas' PoV  
  
A dream had invaded my mind, a voice singing softly, a memory of a lullaby.  
I awoke to find myself in a strange room. It was warm. I was unsure of  
where I was, but I knew that my head no longer pained me. Gingerly, I  
reached up to touch my cheek, astonished that I could not feel the cut  
there. Many thoughts crowded my mind. How long had I been  
unconscious? Where was I? Where had the Orcs vanished to?  
  
I struggled to my feet and found myself garbed in a long, white sleeping  
shirt. A matching robe lay over the chair next to the bed. Reaching for  
it, I found my arrows and knives piled carefully beneath. My quiver on  
another chair and my bow on the mantel. I had no idea where I was and,  
though it SEEMED safe, I had been taught never to make assumptions.  
  
Pulling the soft robe around me, I took one of my knives and moved through  
the large house I found myself in. The soft sounds of conversation and  
crying caught my attention. Following the noise through the labyrinthine  
corridors, I saw two large elven men, guards by their dress. My eyes lit  
upon the woman whom I remembered as 'Eternity', but she seemed terribly sad  
and alone. Beside her, in tears, stood a younger woman, the one who's  
voice had drawn me to this room.  
  
"Where am I?" I asked, hoping that they would understand, but the blank  
looks that were cast in my direction told me that none here understood  
Quenya. Slowly lowering my hand, I tried to rephrase my question into  
Westron, but the room soon tilted and I found myself looking into eyes of  
sapphire, gleaming with an intense grief. My hands were trapped and I had  
been disarmed.  
  
I could hear her demanding something, but while the words sounded familiar,  
they were NOT what I recognised. I must have looked like an idiot or fool,  
but I felt a thought touching my mind, insinuating itself into my own  
thoughts. ~Who are you?~  
  
I blinked, gasping slightly as I realised what was going on. I looked at  
the young woman who sat astride me. ~My name is Legolas Greenleaf. I am  
afraid that I do not understand your words, Lady, but ask you to please  
release me. I have no intent to harm you.~  
  
She must have seen the truth in my eyes. She stood, then offered her hand  
to help me back to my feet. I regarded this petite woman curiously. She  
was about my height, but built like a warrior, as I could already attest  
to. Her attire was rich for a warrior, though. Her robes glittering with  
threads of silver. She wore a crest on her breast, not unlike the crest of  
Gondor, but without the stars. Her hair was as black as midnight, framing  
a face that could have been sculpted from porcelain. But her eyes were as  
bright as the sun, as blue as the depths of the deep rivers, yet clouded  
from grief. I stood there looking deep into those eyes and felt my heart  
lurch. I truly wished I could remove the grief that had put the frown  
there.  
  
I became aware that the guards had moved to flank the woman again and I  
stepped backwards, holding my hands out from my sides to show that I did  
not mean harm. The moment was tense, but I had no way of speaking to them,  
unless I touched one of them.  
  
Eternity moved to my side, touching my hand gently. I understood the new  
demand of the young woman before me. She wanted to know why I was here. I  
still did not know and shrugged, trying to convey my own  
confusion. Eternity moved away from me and I sighed as the knowledge of  
their language faded. They spoke briefly and the elvish noble nodded,  
turning to leave with her guards. I felt so very alone and  
confused. Where could I be, if even Quenya or Westron were not recognised  
by those around me?  
  
----- Present Day  
  
Legolas saw that Pippin and Merry had started to yawn, nestling against  
each other for warmth and comfort. He smiled, breaking the story there for  
another night. "Sleep well, friends. We can continue this tomorrow." He  
stood, slipping off into the woods once more, remembering the spring nights  
that he had spent in Telpë Taurë, the Silver Forest. 


End file.
